


a crown upon my head

by skatzaa



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Braid Lore of Alderaan, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Mentions of Alderaan Culture, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, past canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14482038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Poe finds her the morning after they escape from Crait at the dejarik table, though it she isn’t hard to find, with the Falcon as full as it is.Despite how often they fought and were apart, Han had always made sure to stow away plenty of mirrors onboard the Falcon, so Leia could do her hair without needing help anywhere on the ship as needed. She digs one out of a crevice in the dejarik bench now—the mirror is small and ornate, and she remembers exactly when he stole it from that Nagai pickpocket.Leia presses her lips together and allows the rest of that memory to drift from her mind. She may not have slept, but it is time to renew her braids for another day.





	a crown upon my head

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I've always been fascinated with Alderaan braids and the culture behind them, and I needed a little something to pick me up after watching tlj for the first time. Posted because I just watched Infinity War and I need something to distract me
> 
> Thanks to Syd, as always, for beta-ing.

Poe finds her the morning after they escape from Crait at the dejarik table, though it she isn’t hard to find, with the  _ Falcon _ as full as it is. It’s cramped, to put things lightly, and Leia didn’t truly sleep when the others did. This is both because there weren’t enough bunks and because she needed time to mourn on her own. They mean well, her rebels, every one of them, but they’re so young.

Despite how often they fought and were apart, Han had always made sure to stow away plenty of mirrors onboard the  _ Falcon _ , so Leia could do her hair without needing help anywhere on the ship as needed. She digs one out of a crevice in the dejarik bench now, careful not to make too much noise because she knows at least two beings collapsed in the bunk behind her several hours ago—the mirror is small and ornate, and she remembers exactly when he stole it from that Nagai pickpocket.

Leia presses her lips together and allows the rest of that memory to drift from her mind. She may not have slept, but it is time to renew her braids for another day.

That is when Poe sits down at the far end of the bench, cradling a cup of instant caf and blinking tiredly. Leia continues to pull the pins from her hair.

There’s a new weight to the hunch of his shoulders, today, and the bags beneath his eyes are worse than they were. He’s lost soldiers and friends before, but never has it been on such a massive scale, and so directly his fault. 

Leia understands.

“I’m not sure if you know,” she tells him, voice pitched low so as not to wake the others, “but Alderaan has very specific traditions regarding hair.”

Poe sips at his caf as she finishes finger combing her hair—Han may have kept her well supplied with mirrors but he could never remember to find a brush to go along with them—and then he says, “I think one of my instructors might have mentioned that, at the academy. During History of the Empire, maybe.”

It causes a pang in Leia’s heart to hear Alderaan referred to as history, but it’s an old pain, one easily ignored with practice. 

She separates out a section of hair from behind her right ear, roughly the size of two of her fingers held together. She’s sure to leave the hair from her temple to her ear loose, so she can pull it back later in order to hide the pins. It will be impossible to manage the full raised updo meant to signify rising above grief, but she can still do the mourning twists.

Poe watches her as she divides the segment into three equal parts, still sipping at his caf.

“Alderaan believed,” she says, starting on the first twist, making sure her hands and voice are steady, “that with tradition came memory, and with memory came strength. If I wear my hair braided as a crown upon my head, I will remember those who ruled before me, and I will draw on their legacy.”

He stretches out and hands her a pin just as she reaches the end of the twist. Leia takes it, tilts her her head to one side in thanks, and secures the twist behind her right ear. She begins the second.

“If I have lost those whom I love,” she continues, “I may mourn, as is natural.” Poe’s eyes are dark and sharp as he follows her movements. Leia half feels as though she is a child once more, sitting at her mother’s knee as Breha patiently tells her the meaning woven into each braid at least once more, and it is a comfort she does not expect just now.

“But I should not let my grief overwhelm me. That is why” —she pins the second with the first, and begins the last, fingers trembling for a moment before she makes them be still— “no matter how large my grief or how many I mourn, I must only use two finger widths of hair, to remind me that I have more than I lost. That is why these twists must go clockwise around my head, to remind me that, just as Alderaan circled her sun, bringing forth each new day, so too will my grief begin and end.”

She meets his gaze. His expressions is wry and she sees he has something to say, but Leia waits to keep speaking until the third pin is in place. She picks up another pin to continue, but she doesn’t know how to finish the style, and it makes her feel unsteady. Slowly, Leia places the pin back on the tabletop and swallows, because her throat suddenly feels very tight.

Someone touches her shoulder, gently, and Leia looks up to see Rey, her face drawn. Rey moves her hand to hover just above Leia’s hair, a question hanging in the air, and Leia nods.

Rey begins with the segments before the twists, which are still hanging loose, and Leia turns her attention back to Poe.

“If you think I didn’t consider twisting a million braids into my hair after they destroyed Alderaan, you’re wrong.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asks, and she realizes, fondly, that it’s the first time he’s spoken in several minutes. He’s working on his restraint, then.

She lets the familiar pull of fingers in her hair drain the tension from her back.

Leia remembers curling in on herself from grief so often in those early days. How Han and Luke had done their best to help, but could never truly understand her situation, something she was thankful for. She wouldn’t have wished that pain on her enemies, even on the worst days. She remembers Evaan finding her, time after time, and painstakingly putting three mourning braids in her hair—one each for her mother and father, and one for Alderaan and their people—and then returning the favor for her friend. She remembers how sharing her grief had made it easier to carry.

“I always seemed to have a wise and foolishly headstrong friend or four there to remind me that we had to move forward.”

Poe cracks a smile, and behind her, Rey gives a soft laugh.

Leia leans forward, careful to move slowly so Rey can follow her, and waits until Poe surrenders one of his hands for her to hold with both of hers.

“It’s okay to grieve,” she repeats to them both, as well as anyone else who might be listening, because they need to hear it. “It’s natural. But don’t let your mistakes keep you from doing what must be done, always.”

Poe squeezes her hand just as Rey hums in satisfaction and steps away, presumably to get her own cup of caf. Leia retrieves her hands in order to hold up the mirror, and what she sees makes her smile.

At first glance, it seems as though Rey has done little more than tangle her hair into a mess of snarled knots, but the longer she looks, the more intentionality Leia finds. No one but a child of the desert would devise something so wild and practical, but Leia finds that she likes it. It suits the storm brewing deep in her heart.

And prominent displayed as a band keeping the wildness at bay: the three mourning braids. 

Rey slides into the booth next to Poe, forcing him to scoot closer to the middle, and the two share a brief, tired smile.

“Who are they for?” Rey asks her, cradling the caf mug in her hands. “I’m assuming the first is for Han.”

Leia inclines her head. Less than a standard day ago, they only person she had needed to mourn was Han.

Poe says, “Holdo. You were friends, right? The second is for her.”

“Yes,” Leia says, and sighs. It still hasn’t hit her, truly. “Amilyn and I were friends long before Han and I ever met.”

Somewhere on the ship, Chewie groans out a curse in his sleep.  Poe’s head twitches in that direction, but otherwise he does not react. Rey holds her arms stiff at her sides. 

Rey’s face as she stares at the inactive dejarik board is pensive, and she hesitates for a long moment before she finally says, “And the last is for Luke.”

Poe startles, badly, and stares at Leia as she nods. Rey echoes the motion.

“So I truly did feel him leave,” she says, mostly to herself. At any other time, Leia might marvel at the girl’s strength, even after everything she’s endured these past weeks, but Leia misses her brother too fiercely to begin thinking like him just yet. She knows she saw the parts of him that matter, on Crait, before he left, that he held her hand and wiped away her tears, but Leia selfishly wishes he had truly  _ been _ there.

Three braids. She has lost enough soldiers over the years, that she can hold her grief for them in her heart without wearing its reminder.

Her son she will not grieve for.

Rey and Poe drink their caf, leaving Leia to fold away her feelings once more. 

Finn chooses that moment to wander over and sit on the edge of the bench to Leia’s right, attempting to look as though he is only a minute or two removed from sleep. Leia does not roll her eyes, but she considers it as she shifts to make room for him. Finn gives her a bright smile, his drowsy facade dropping away quickly. The three of them launch into a discussion that consists mostly of them speaking over one another and not actually hearing a word any of them say.

Leia does roll her eyes then, but she also settles further back into the booth and lets their stories wash over her. The stories are only a pretense, in the end, an excuse to revel in one another’s presence. Leia allows herself to sink into the hope that ripples outward from all three.

They aren’t Han and Luke. She once knew this ship and its crew better than her own heart. But now, she can hear the difference in the the  _ Falcon’s _ engines, those old, defunct parts replaced long ago. Leia is surrounded by people who she cares for deeply, would give her life for, but she doesn’t know every part of them. She and Chewie are the last of their family, and yet, as she sits back and watches the organized chaos of her rebels working together, Leia knows that these people are not replacements for those she lost. They are their own, and they are hers, and she will protect them to the end.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to write more on Alderaan braiding in the future, I think. Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated but never required.
> 
> Read on,  
> Skats


End file.
